


Beauty Walks Beside Him

by Girl_in_Red_Crossing



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_in_Red_Crossing/pseuds/Girl_in_Red_Crossing
Summary: A place to collect ficlets relating to my Blind-Jaskier AU.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 586





	1. Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> I beg forgiveness for the repost, but I wanted to separate these stories out from my more general ficlet collection because there will be more in the not-too-distant future! Hopefully that makes up for it. :)
> 
> (And I promise that, though I deleted these fics from the larger collection, I preserved each and every comment and will continue to treasure them.)
> 
> The first story (and general idea) comes from a prompt from Tumblr user lunarthedragon: Moochin off an idea I posted earlier... Jaskier is born blind but still finds a way to navigate the world and be a bard. Cue Geralt learning how to help him and be there for him in unexpected, heartwarming ways

Inside the tavern, Geralt doesn’t pay the blind bard much notice, other than to be mildly impressed by the confidence with which the man moves about the room.

Outside the tavern, after the bard has overheard the villagers’ talk of their devil and insisted on tagging along, Geralt punches him in the gut. He can’t afford the distraction of trying to keep the man safe.

It doesn’t work. They proceed down the dusty road, the bard chattering away, one of his hands swinging a long, thin cane before him and the other resting on the scruff of a dog that trots obediently at his side. She’s all white, and Geralt would have thought her a wolf except she’s not quite large enough. She watches him with pale-blue eyes but doesn’t make a sound, a stark contrast to her master. 

After the incident with the elves, Geralt resigns himself to traveling with them until they reach the next village. He can’t very well abandon them in the wilderness. As they walk along, the bard sings to himself, composing a song about their day that is entirely fabrication. When the time comes to make camp, Geralt turns Roach off the road and toward a suitable clearing in the sparse woods around them. He hears the dog--Beauty the bard calls her--make a soft sound, not quite a bark, and the bard--Jaskier--lets her lead him to the clearing and then to a stump. He taps it a few times with his cane and then sits without hesitation or a single stumble. He sets his cane and lute carefully on the grass beside the stump and then slings his pack to the ground and begins to dig inside.

“Do you have food for an evening meal?” Jaskier asks Geralt. “If not, I’m happy to share.”

For a moment, Geralt can only stare at the soft-looking, blind bardling in his fine clothes offering to feed _him_. Then he grunts and shakes his head. “I usually hunt when I travel.”

Jaskier grins. “A trade then? Bread and cheese for you and an apple for your horse in exchange for some meat Beauty and I can share.”

Geralt would refuse except he sees the way Roach’s ears prick up at the word “apple.” He sighs and nods, and then he remembers himself, clears his throat, and gives a verbal “Yes.”

The bard beams. “Excellent.” He gets to his feet and brushes dirt from his trousers. “How many paces across would you say this clearing is?”

Surprised by the non sequitur, Geralt takes a moment to consider. “About forty.”

The bard nods, and Geralt finds himself wondering how someone who doesn’t see picks up a gesture like that. He’s more baffled when the bard offers to build a campfire for them to cook on. Before he can even question it, the bard whistles. Beauty gets to her feet and walks beside him as he moves toward the treeline at the edges of the clearing. Geralt can see that he is counting his steps to himself. Just before he reaches the trees, Beauty lets out the same soft sound from before, and Jaskier reaches out to find the first trunk with his hands. Then he bends down and begins feeling in the grass for sticks to burn.

The process is clearly a familiar one to man and dog. It even seems to become a bit of a game; Beauty tromps around Jaskier and brings him sticks, and he feels them with his hands, adds them to the growing bundle in his arms, and showers her with praise and ear scratches. When he has enough, he bends down and says only the word “Fire” in a certain commanding tone, and the dog heads back to the center of the clearing, nose to the ground. When she finds a spot with more dirt than grass, she begins to dig. She clears a shallow pit just large enough that she could curl into it if she chose and then whuffs for Jaskier’s attention. He walks straight to her, kneels down, and finds the edges of the pit with his hands before setting the sticks inside.

As he’s arranging them to his satisfaction, he tilts his head in Geralt’s direction. “Are you still here?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, get going!” Jaskier insists. “We’re hungry!”

Geralt goes. Based on what he’s seen, he trusts the dog will at the very least alert Geralt if danger approaches. He stays within earshot just in case.

When he returns with a brace of rabbits, the campfire is cracking merrily. Jaskier has laid out his bedroll to sit on, and he’s playing an intricate melody on his new elven lute. Beauty rests beside him, head against his knee, but when Geralt reenters the clearing, she lifts her head, sniffs at the air, and wags her tail.

At her movement, Jaskier stops playing. “Geralt?”

Geralt has to remind himself again to respond with his voice. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Any luck?”

“Rabbits.”

“Fantastic! We’ll have ourselves a little feast.”

Jaskier sets aside the lute and opens up the pack next to him as Geralt skewers the skinned rabbits and sets them over the fire. He watches in bemusement as the bard pulls out a full loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese wrapped in a cloth, a large pouch filled with nuts and dried fruit, and even a small pot of jam.

“Help yourself,” Jaskier offers as he feeds a small piece of cheese to Beauty. “There’s plenty. No doubt some of it will go bad before I can eat it all.”

Geralt reaches across and tears off a hunk of the bread. “Why buy more than you can eat?”

A sheepish grin crosses Jaskier’s face. “Ah. Well, I may, on occasion, play up the difficulties of my oh-so-tragic condition, and then, on occasion, some tender-hearted shopkeepers may feel inclined to provide me with slightly more than I strictly paid for.”

Despite himself, Geralt lets out an amused huff and helps himself to some nuts from the pouch. Beauty watches him, and when he meets her eyes, she wags her tail again. The smell of rabbit seems to have earned him some goodwill.

“She’s well-trained,” he notes.

“She’s wonderful,” Jaskier enthuses, and he scratches Beauty’s ears again while she looks up at him with clear adoration. “Best dog I’ve had.”

“You’ve had others?” Geralt asks as he turns the rabbits.

“Yes, I’ve been very lucky. A friend of the family knew a kennel master who’s a genius with breeding and training dogs for specific purposes. He took training my first as a personal challenge, and then trained my second to see if he could improve the process.” Jaskier bends down to press a kiss between Beauty’s ears. “I trained this darling girl myself.”

Jaskier raises his head to Geralt. “I imagine a Witcher’s horse receives quite a bit of special training as well.” When Geralt hums his agreement, Jaskier smiles. “What color is your horse?”

Geralt’s eyebrows rise. “Does that matter to you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jaskier laughs. “But it matters to my audience. If I’m going to wax poetic about your daring exploits, I have to be able to describe you in terms they’ll understand.”

It makes an odd sort of sense, Geralt supposes. “She’s a chestnut.”

“She’s a mare?” Jaskier asks with a delighted grin. “Well, look at us! Two lucky gentlemen out and about with such lovely ladies. There’s a song in that, I think.”

Geralt takes the rabbits off the fire and places them on a stone to cool. “You seem to think there’s a song in everything.”

“And so there is!” Jaskier agrees. “Music is the color of my world. Speaking of, what about you?”

“What about me?”

Jaskier gestures impatiently. “Hair color? Eye color? Are you tall and thin? Short and stout? Bearded? Clean-shaven? How shall I describe you to the thronging masses?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Pfft.” With a wave of his hand, Jaskier swats away his objection. “I promised to improve your reputation, so I must translate your heroic visage to the world. So… hair color?”

After an exasperated exhale, Geralt answers. “White.”

“Really? I’ve always understood that to be more typical of older people. You don’t sound old.”

“I am. Witchers live long lives.”

Jaskier lets out a skeptical hum of his own. “And your eyes?”

Geralt hesitates a moment before admitting, “Yellow.”

“That’s unusual, isn’t it? Is that because you’re a Witcher?”

Again, Geralt nods before he remembers to answer. “Yes.”

With a speculative frown, Jaskier taps his fingers against his lips. “You say Witchers lead long lives, but how old do you _look_? If someone saw you, what age would they guess you to be?”

Geralt shifts his shoulders. He honestly has no idea how to answer the question; it’s not something he’s ever considered. Eventually he settles on a reluctant guess. “Late thirties, I suppose.”

Jaskier nods to himself, but when he opens his mouth to ask another question, Geralt cuts him off.

“Rabbit’s ready,” he grunts.

“Oh, good!” Jaskier says, and he holds out a hand. Geralt reaches across to place the skewer in his fingers, and Jaskier lifts it to his nose, sniffs it, and gives an appreciative sigh. “Smells wonderful.”

They eat in silence after that. Jaskier rips off pieces of rabbit for Beauty, who takes them from his hand in dainty bites. As Geralt helps himself to more bread and cheese, he had to admit that the variety of the meal is a nice change of pace from his normal road fare. And when he brings the apple to Roach, she knocks her head against his chest in thanks. He takes his time settling her for the night, letting the familiar actions and the warm food in his belly lull him as the night falls.

When he returns to the fire, Jaskier and Beauty have settled into what seems to be their nightly routine, him in his bedroll and her curled beside him. His nimble fingers tug loose bits of twigs and leaves from her coat, and she has her eyes closed in bliss as he murmurs sweet words to her. Geralt’s lips twitch in a slight smile as he watches them.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks after a moment.

“I’m here.”

Jaskier raises his head to his direction and smirks. “So you’re aware, you should know that Beauty is an excellent tracker. Just in case you were having any thoughts about leaving us in the next town.”

Geralt frowns. Beauty opens her eyes, lifts her head, and widens her jaws to let her tongue loll out just a bit. He gets the impression she’s laughing at him.

“Hmm” is all he can think to say in response, and when Jaskier laughs as well, he is definitely laughing at him.


	2. Sense of Beauty

The low ceiling of the tunnel leading to the arachas’ cave had been annoying on the way in, but Geralt cared less on the way out since he was already hunched over the poisoned scratch across his abdomen. His Cat potion had worn off, and without it, the visibility was low even for him, but he kept shuffling forward, one hand supporting and guiding him along the rocky walls. Roach was good at finding him when he’d been gone too long, but the tunnel entrance was too narrow for her. If he didn’t want to spend two days shivering and vomiting on a cave floor, he needed to make it at least that far.

A noise in front of him forced him to a reluctant stop. He wasn’t sure he could resist the urge to collapse if he didn’t keep moving, but the sound of nails or claws clicking against stone couldn’t be ignored. With a wince, he reached over his shoulder to pull his sword from its sheath. Then he heard another sound: a soft, familiar bark. He let his hand drop the hilt, and he let himself slide down to sit against the cave wall.

A wet nose and warm breath snuffled at his jaw, and he smiled as he buried his free hand in thick fur. “Hello, Beauty,” he murmured.

“Geralt?” a voice called.

“I’m here.”

Beauty darted away from him, and when she returned, she brought human footsteps with her. Jaskier’s cane skimmed Geralt’s thigh, and then the bard was dropping beside him with a huff of air. Fingers grasped Geralt’s elbow, and a hand patted his shoulder.

“Ah, there you are! I was half-afraid Beauty had decided to go in search of something smelly to roll in. Not that you’re exactly fresh right now. Can you believe we were going to camp not a mile from here? But then Beauty sniffed out Roach, and she seemed agitated, the poor darling, so we came in search of you.” Geralt heard the clinking of glass bottles. “I brought your bag. What do you need?”

“Swallow.”

“Yes, of course. That’s three knots if I remember right.”

Not for the first time, Geralt was grateful for Jaskier’s system of knotted strings tied to the necks of his potion flasks. In situations like this, Jaskier’s fingers could locate the right potion more quickly than Geralt’s eyes. The hand on his shoulder slid down his arm to his hand, and then the flask was pressed into his fingers. Geralt drank it down and sighed in relief as the flowing warmth soothed the burn of the scratch.

“What else do you need?” Jaskier asked as he took back the empty bottle. “Bandaging?”

“It’s not deep,” Geralt rasped.

“How about water then? You’re sounding a bit rough.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” After more clinking, Jaskier’s hand guided Geralt’s to the water skin he held, and Geralt grasped it and lifted it to his lips. He took several long swallows before he fumbled it from his still slightly numb fingers. Jaskier made a soft sound of surprise; some of the water must have spilled on him.

“Oop. I’ve got it. Maybe we’ll save the rest for when you’re a little steadier. Can you walk?”

“Maybe with help.”

“And help you have, my friend!” Jaskier enthused.

Jaskier shifted beside him, sorting out bag and dog and cane, and then he was curling his hand around Geralt’s waist. Geralt stretched his arm across Jaskier’s shoulders and let the bard help lever him to his feet.

“There we go,” Jaskier encouraged as they started forward. “We’ll get you to camp, get you sitting down, and get some food in you. How does that sound? And in thanks, you can tell me all about the monsters you’ve killed since we last crossed paths.”

“It’s only been three weeks, Jaskier.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think Beauty is choosing roads that lead back to you.”

Geralt found himself smiling. “She’s a good girl.”

“She’s the _best_ girl,” Jaskier corrected. “But don’t get any ideas about wooing her with your wily Witcher ways. She may like you, but I will _always_ be her favorite.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is. Well, fine. I’ll just have to start sneaking Roach more sugar cubes.”

“What do you mean ‘more’?”

“Nothing, my dear Witcher. Nothing at all.”


	3. Passing the Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: blind Jaskier AU - Jaskier sprains an ankle/catches a cold/whatever. It’s not dire but he’s cooped up while recovering. Geralt stops him from dying of boredom; friendship and bonding ensue (from Tumblr user obscurebookwyrm).

Geralt smiled as Beauty squeezed past him and dashed up the inn stairs to their room on the second floor. When he reached the closed door, she set her paw against it and looked up at him imploringly. As had become his habit while traveling with Jaskier, Geralt knocked three times and announced, “It’s me,” before opening the door.

Beauty was through before he’d opened it more than a crack, and she made a beeline to the bed to sniff out Jaskier under the pile of blankets. His laugh was more of a croak as he reached out a hand to stroke down her neck and pat her side. Her tail wagged madly.

“Yes, hello, darling,” Jaskier rasped. “Did you have a good walk?” He tilted his head toward Geralt. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“She seemed anxious.”

Jaskier’s face softened as he continued to caress Beauty’s white fur. “Silly girl. It’s just a little cold, that’s all. I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

The words lost some of their effect when he had to smother a cough in the crook of his elbow. It had a harsh, barking quality that made Geralt’s chest tighten in sympathy. He grabbed one of their water skins and pressed it into Jaskier’s hand, who smiled gratefully and took a long drink. Geralt didn’t know much about human illness, but Jaskier seemed genuine in his belief that it would pass quickly, and as he had no fever and never appeared confused or delirious, Geralt decided it was best to trust him.

After he finished drinking, Jaskier set the water skin on the table beside the bed. “Did you find someone to patch up your armor?” he asked.

“Yes, there’s a leather worker in town.”

“Well, if I’m going to need a day of rest in bed, I’m glad you’ll get something useful out of sitting around.”

“I don’t mind.” To his surprise, he meant it. They had coin enough, and sleeping two nights in a row in the same place would do them all good, Roach and Beauty included.

“In that case, I’m glad of the company.” Jaskier smiled even as he cleared his throat. After folding back the top half of the blankets, he reached back to stack the pillows to support him more upright. “And I’ve thought of another way we might pass the time productively.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Beauty’s trained to obey the basic commands--sit, stay, and so on--from just about anyone, but her more advanced commands only come from me. They require a bit more effort and trust, and since we spend so much of our time traveling, she hasn’t had much of an opportunity to form that kind of bond with anyone else.” His smile softened as he scratched behind Beauty’s ear. “Until now.”

“Me?” Geralt asked.

Despite the roughness in Jaskier’s laugh, his smile didn’t fade. “Don’t sound so surprised. She just followed you about town, didn’t she?”

He could have argued that her good nature and training were the reasons, but some part of him warmed at the thought that it could be more than that. “Hmm.”

“Hmm indeed,” Jaskier agreed. “She trusts you, Geralt. And so do I.”

When Geralt looked down and met Beauty’s blue eyes, she wagged her tail, and he couldn’t deny the way his lips turned up at the sight. “What did you have in mind?”

Jaskier’s smile widened to a grin. “ _Well_ ,” he declared with the enthusiasm he reserved for when Geralt agreed to one of his ideas, “you may have noticed that I don’t particularly enjoy being left behind when you go on a hunt.”

Jaskier’s repeated complaints and protests had made it impossible not to notice. Although Geralt had learned very early on not to underestimate Jaskier and even allowed him to come within earshot of his easier hunts, he still refused to put a human, sighted or not, within easy reach of his prey.

“Jaskier…”

Jaskier raised his hand. “No, let me finish. Part of the reason I don’t enjoy it is because you, Geralt of Rivia, are terrible at estimating how long a hunt will last.”

Frowning, Geralt crossed his arms over his chest. “Hunts are unpredictable.”

An exasperated huff left Jaskier’s still-smiling lips. “You’ve been doing this for decades! Aren’t they at least predictably unpredictable?”

“I get paid when the job is done. It’s never mattered how long it took.”

For some reason, those words made Jaskier’s smile slip a bit. “Well, it matters now.” His lips quirked, raking on a rueful shape. “You may have noticed I’m not as patient as Roach.”

Geralt had always assumed Jaskier’s annoyance stemmed from not wanting to miss out on the excitement or perhaps from not wanting to be coddled. The idea that Jaskier didn’t like waiting for him, was perhaps _worried_ for _him_ , had never crossed his mind. He wasn’t sure what to do with it now that it had.

“What does this have to do with training Beauty?” he asked instead.

“I’m getting there,” Jaskier insisted. “Now, as I see it, there are generally two reasons why you’re late coming back from a hunt: either the fight is taking longer than you expected or you’ve been injured. Do you agree?”

“It’s a simplification, but yes, I suppose.”

Jaskier’s smile returned full force. “Let’s keep it simple for my sake, if not Beauty’s. And despite what you may think, I’m not completely reckless. I understand that terrain and circumstances sometimes conspire to make it impractical for Roach or I to follow you.”

Geralt snorted at that and Jaskier frowned, but it was an exaggerated, lighthearted frown.

“Hush, you. My point is that Beauty has the advantage over us in size and agility. If I could send her to check on you, it would make the waiting much easier.”

Geralt’s frown was earnest. “I don’t want her getting near monsters either.”

“I would never put her in harm’s way, you know that, but she’s more than capable of keeping an eye on the situation while staying out of danger.”

“We just discussed how hunts are unpredictable.”

“And she’s trained to handle unpredictable situations.” Before Geralt could respond, Jaskier waved his hand to stop the line of discussion. “An argument for another day. I’m more concerned about her being able to help you if you’re injured.”

Geralt considered the possibilities. “I suppose she could bring me potions if Roach couldn’t. _After_ the fight is over.”

Jaskier brightened with visible excitement. “There’s a thought! We could fashion a little vest with pockets for her. Her own little saddle bags!” He coughed again, and his hand sought out the water skin on the table beside him. Geralt didn’t move to help him, knowing from experience that he’d find it faster than Geralt could get to it.

After he drank, Jaskier cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s definitely a thought. But I’m more concerned about times you may be unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.”

“I’m not sure what she could do in that case.”

“You’d be surprised. She knows how to find help if I’m ever injured.”

The thought of that, the image it brought to his mind of Jaskier alone and hurt, sat heavily in his mind and prompted a similar weight in the pit of his stomach. “Has she had to do it?”

“Once or twice,” Jaskier acknowledged, shrugging. “Traveling alone is dangerous for anyone. You know that.”

“Hmm.” They had never argued about Jaskier leaving him to go on his own travels. Even if Geralt may have wanted to, he knew it was an argument that Jaskier had faced from everyone he’d ever met. Geralt didn’t want to be a voice in that chorus. “That doesn’t sound like a basic command.”

“It’s not. Which is why we’d have to practice.” Jaskier grinned. “So go ahead and lie on the floor.”

Geralt’s eyebrow refused to hear that and not react, even if Jaskier couldn’t see it. “Why would I do that?”

“So we can see how she’ll react to you being incapacitated.” Jaskier’s hands made an impatient gesture. “Go on.”

With an eye roll Jaskier wouldn't catch and a heavy sigh he would, Geralt lowered himself to the floor and stretched out on his back. Beauty padded over to look down at him, and he smiled and scratched beneath her jaw when she tilted her head curiously.

“Are you on the floor?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Geralt could have done without the note of glee in Jaskier’s voice, but he preferred that to the ragged edge of hoarseness it had held the past few days. “Now close your eyes and don’t respond to anything Beauty does.”

Geralt huffed but complied. Jaskier cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he used the low tone he reserved for Beauty’s commands. He said her name, and even with his eyes closed, Geralt knew that he was holding his hand up, palm out, and that Beauty would acknowledge her attention by touching her nose to his hand.

“Find Geralt,” Jaskier ordered.

Only Geralt’s own training kept him from reacting to that. Beauty had tracked him a few times, so he’d known they must have developed a command for it, but he’d never heard it. The same warm feeling from before washed over him, and it was difficult not to reply with a smile and a stroke when he felt Beauty snuffling at his chest. It became almost impossible when his lack of response drew a low whine from her throat.

“Beauty, come.”

He heard the click of Beauty’s nails on the wood floor as she returned to Jaskier and then quiet. After a long moment, he cracked one eye so he could see what was happening. Jaskier bunched a bit of his shirt sleeve and held the fabric near Beauty’s mouth. She hesitated and then took it between her teeth.

“Good girl,” he praised her. “Is something wrong? Does Geralt _need help_?” He emphasized the last words in a way that suggested the phrase was another kind of trigger for her. Geralt swallowed down the realization that she probably knew it in the context of Jaskier saying, “ _I_ need help.”

But the words clearly registered with Beauty because she began to tug at Jaskier’s sleeve. Jaskier pushed to his feet, which Geralt almost objected to, but despite a quick cough, Jaskier displayed no unsteadiness. He repeated the “Find Geralt” command, and Beauty continued to pull him in Geralt’s direction.

Given the small size of the room and his lack of a cane, Jaskier stepped carefully to avoid treading on Geralt. He reached out with his hands too as he lowered himself to the floor, for which Geralt was grateful since he otherwise would have gotten a knee in the face.

“There you are,” Jaskier murmured as his fingers brushed against Geralt’s jaw. The light touch sent a shiver down his spine.

Jaskier resumed his praise of Beauty, but Geralt could still feel her sniffing his hand. When she let out another whine, he prepared to sit up, but Jaskier’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll help him.”

In the next moment, warm lips pressed a kiss against his forehead. Geralt’s eyes shot open, and he bolted upright. Beauty let out a soft bark and rested her front paws on his legs so she could lick his face. He stroked her absently while staring at Jaskier, who was grinning widely.

“Revived with a kiss. There’s one for the storybooks.”

Before Geralt could recover enough to demand what the fuck had just happened, another brittle cough escaped Jaskier. His grin vanished with a groan.

“Ugh. We’ll practice more when we have more space, and I don’t sound like my lungs are attempting to achieve emancipation from my body.”

He crawled back to the bed, pulled himself up by the blankets, and flopped back onto the mattress. Geralt knew it was mostly for theatrical effect, which annoyed him, though not quite as much as the soft (and entirely real) whistle he could hear in Jaskier’s breathing. He knew he could only hear it because he had enhanced senses, but once the sound burrowed into his consciousness, he couldn’t seem to dig it out again. Combined with the way the skin of his brow still prickled, it made the small room feel even smaller.

“I’m going downstairs for a drink,” he grumbled.

“Mmm,” Jaskier acknowledged, already halfway to dozing. Rolling toward the wall, he tugged the blankets up over his shoulders. “Bring up some tea, would you?”

Geralt sighed as he headed for the door. “Fine.”

“With honey.”

Gritting his teeth, Geralt turned the doorknob. “Fine.”

“And lemon.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“Geralt?”

Geralt looked to the heavens before looking over his shoulder. “What?”

Jaskier, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, grinned at him from within his blankets. “You were a very good boy today.”

“Fuck you,” he growled.

He was glad Jaskier couldn’t see the slight smile on his face.


End file.
